


Under My Skin

by Bekaylo



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross Species Relationship, Historical Fantasy, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Injury, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Peril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 05:27:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8433526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bekaylo/pseuds/Bekaylo
Summary: Jack’s green eyes are shining, for a moment Brock can see the reflection of the moon and a waterfall in them.Yeah, it was definitely the whiskey - and it’s Halloween after all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Halloween fic fleshing out some of the ancient world story from Under The Moon's Dark Iron.
> 
> This story can be read directly after Chapter 17 of Under the Moon's Dark Iron.

1232 BC, Etruria

 

The woman stood at the edge of what had been her father’s estate. It was hers now, hers and her husband’s. He was a good man and they had a good understanding. Now that he had passed, it was time to pass the estate to their children and for her to move on.

 He was not the first man she had arranged a marriage with. There had been another, but that had been a strange, ill-fated business. The subsequent arrangement with Panificus had been the most sensible, sane solution in a mad world.

 But now, things were coming full circle. The strange, ill-fated union was being fulfilled in a way, not with the original suitor, but with the closest thing, his twin.

 The full, harvest moon was climbing above the forest on the edge of her land. Across the track that marked her boundaries, the woods began. They were dark and mysterious, always the focus for strange tales and still considered a place of foreboding by many.

 She considered them a haven, and the source of her greatest joy. She had long had another understanding, that kept her sane with the promise of peace.

 She listened to the sounds of the night, the wind whispering through the leaves, night birds and she was rewarded by the sound she had been really hoping to hear. The not-too-distant howl of a solitary wolf made the hairs stand up all along her spine.

 She went very still, breathing quietly. The fear response was more of a delicious tingle on a night like this. The sky was clear, the moon full and bright. The distant hills were bathed in a creamy glow from the moon.

 Instincts and senses were heightened on a night like this. She rode the spine tingling chills as she became more and more aware of something approaching, something skirting just out of sight in the edge of the trees. Shadow was the wrong word for it, something so pale coming just into vision behind the tree trunks and bushes.

 There were two distinct pinpoints of light, a parallel pair of eyes and it emerged onto the edge of the treeline. There was the visual proof that she was being hunted. He r breath hitched, her heart raced, but she stood her ground.

 The urge to flee was primal and strong, but she had no wish to flee this. She went with the rising Panic, awe of nature as the shape advanced onto the path.

 The moon created a golden halo around cream colored fur, shining amber eyes rimmed with olive skin gave the appearance of kohl and around the creature’s neck was a plain silver chain, hung with four crescent moon charms.

 The woman darted her glance away shyly. “My, what a pretty necklace you have, Lady Rumexia…” she murmured.

 The cream colored wolf rose onto its hind legs, changing and dwindling as it did so. In the next moment it had become a slight, fair-haired young woman with olive skin and kohl-rimmed eyes.

 She smiled and put out her hand. “It was my mother’s, and her mother’s, all the way back to Maira. As you very well know - and you’ve _still_  got your eyes on it.”

 It was an exchange that sounded like a code, like a password phrase. The woman stepped into the lane and took the wolf-woman’s hand with a shy smile.

 

They slipped into the trees and were lost in the green darkness.

 

\--------------------------------

 Arezzo 1842 AD

 The museum curator reverently passed the ancient parchment scrolls into the gloved hands of historian Augusto Panichelli.

 “There, the memoirs of your ancestor, the Lady Rumexia, daughter of the foster-sister of Romulus and Remus…” breathed the curator.

 Panichelli smiled, excellent white teeth against an olive face. “Not actually my ancestor, but a very close associate of one of them,” he murmured. “But this, this will tell us everything…”

\----------------------------------------

 1212 AD Aritim valley, Etruria

 His Mother had slipped the red cloak around his shoulders, tenderly, silk ties being fastened around his neck with gentle dexterity by four clawed fingers. She had stepped back, raised the hood over his head and hugged him.

 The cloak was soft and sleek and with her hugging him it was comforting for a moment. It was like remembered early days in the den, nestling in soft warm fur, little paws kneading, bumping against Sissy, nudging for the best spots, warmth and closeness.

 “You look beautiful and I am so proud.” said his Mother. She dropped a thin lipped nuzzle kiss on his brown snout. Then it was back to business, and ritual, and rules.

“Remember, stick to the path and stick to the plan.” Mother commanded and handed him a basket full of gifts.

 He glanced at Sissy, Sorrel, litter-mate, den-mate, play mate. She looked a little sad. They had always done everything together, until this summer, when he had been distracted by - never mind, that was all over. He was getting married, but he would spend lots of time with his birth family. They would play and hunt as always.

 “You are a lucky man, Badger” murmured Sorrel. Then she had shrugged and hugged him like Mother.

 Everyone gathered in the clearing to see him off, and wish him well, scattering petals. This wedding was going to be a joyous affair.

 Badger was going to walk down the valley alone, to start the celebrations.

 Setting off out of the clearing to the path through the forest, Badger took pleasure in the night sounds and the smell of ferns. He had grown up in the woods in the years since the Luceres were driven from their stone dwellings and arable farms. It was not wise having livestock because the urge to eat them was too strong

 He didn't remember those times but he knew all about them. He stopped to pick some berries, he always ate berries because he had grown up in the woods. However, sometimes he liked something he could chase, and chew - something still warm with meat he could tear off the bones with his sharp little teeth.

 His main gift would be something the stone dwellers like to eat cooked over fire with some herbs on it, that’s what they would do with his gift, use it for the wedding feast.

 But he collected some berries too, as a gesture of swapping. His mother would be proud. He wanted to please her because she knew best, and she was right: this was the right thing to do. The berries made him think of eating all kinds of other fruit and green stuff he never imagined he would enjoy on their own. It was always Sissy who found plants to chew, hence her name Sorrel.

 He fought off the sadness the thought of eating fruit and nuts in the glade gave him. He could hear the waterfall from here. It was too sad, all that was past and it was only a summer interlude, his future was down in the valley. Catching a glimpse of the waterfall would take him off the path, and into the glade.

 He was never going there again.

 

Walking eastward, he reached a place where the trees thinned at the top of the wide, sweeping bank of hillside above the valley. He paused, standing in the light of a rising, full harvest moon. He could see the settlement he was headed for, an orange glow bathing the stone dwellings in something almost as bright as day.

 It was not only the yellow moon, there were clearly fires burning down in the Ramenses settlement. The boy knew that they were fond of having fires and torchlight for their festivals and the idea the rituals he was about to attend were being treated as a festival was pleasing. It really was a special night.

 For the last time, he breathed in the scent of cypress and let the view from this hill soothe and excite him both.

 He lowered the hood of the soft, red cloak and started to walk down the hill.towards his new life and hope for his people.

\----------------------------------------

 On the edge of the field, he put his basket of offerings down and watched the bleating creatures in the grass. They were grazing, rounder and with deeper voices than the goats, slower, woolly coated animals. He assessed the herd, placing his hands on the stone wall that surrounded the field.

 Flexing his fingers on the cold stone, he made the switch. His claws tapped the stone thoughtfully, as he focused on a round.woolly target at the edge of the herd, smaller and slower than the others.

 It was easy to drop into a bipedal run, fixated on the smaller woolly-coat he had singled out.

 When he pounced, being a young man of the Luceres tribe gave him long, dexterous arms to grasp and pin his prize. being a young wolf of the Luceres tribe gave him a long jaw and strong, sharp teeth to sink into the creature’s neck, snapping it and ending its life swiftly.

 Badger, the young man who was also a wolf, was reasonably hungry right now. But he did not drag the dead lamb off to consume it. He placed it carefully in his basket of offerings, along with the berries he had gathered. There was also a bunch of grapes and a sealed container of fermented fruit drink his mother had packed.

 He straightened up, tucked the basket over his arm and walked along the cypress lined drive to the large stone dwelling of the sheep herd’s owner. This had all been arranged; the kill as a wolf fulfilling his coming of age rituals as a Luceres member. The subsequent offering of the killed lamb along with the other gifts to the sheeps’ owner fulfilled a gesture of offering a gift in return for the hand in marriage of the farmer’s daughter.

That had all been arranged, the marriage. Badger’s mother and the farmer, who owned a lot of the land as well as his farm, had made a deal. Their son and daughter would marry, and unite the Luceres and Ramenses people in this area. There would be peace here.

 Badger felt some pride in the fact he was going to be part of an important social development for the first time. It was probably because of the thrill of the catch he had just made, because up to now there had been doubts.

 He liked the farmer’s daughter well enough. They had been introduced a few weeks ago, when his mother and sister accompanied him to this house he was approaching now. His mother and sister had sat, looking like real stone dweller ladies, while the farmer’s daughter leaned over to Sorrel and remarked on her silver necklace.

 Sorrel had been sullen and subdued since this marriage arrangement, sad at losing her brother and playmate. She had made polite conversation up to this point, to her credit, but now her eyes sparkled more, at the interest taken in the necklace and at the flush in the cheeks of Badger’s soon-to-be-bride. The farmer treated him, Badger, in a jovial, kind manner and talked of welcoming him as a new son.

 Badger and the farmer’s daughter were encouraged to take a walk around the estate together. They got on quite well and she asked _lots_ of questions about Sorrel.

 Badger had retained the idea he preferred to stay as he was, visiting the Tawny One in the special glade in the heart of the forest and living with his people in the woods. It was only discovering that Tawny was an ancient, frightening god among the Ramenses’ ancestors, who accepted sacrifices of wolves and was nothing but a dirty old goat who liked having sex with humans he had realised that was not an option. Tawny had found Badger a nice distraction and novelty, but he was a deceitful old monster it seemed.

 He had not tried to talk Badger out of his marriage, or responded much to Badger admitting he wanted to stay with him rather than marry the girl. Badger thought it was right, now, that he was marrying the young woman and living a more human life, bringing about a historic peace at the same time.

 His mother was going to be so proud when she and the tribe made their way down the hill in an hour or so to take part in the wedding ceremony. His lamb kill had been flawless, and he had not mangled it too badly. Everything was going to plan, and Badger was euphoric as he walked around the last curve of the lane.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 At the house, the front door was open, the farmer and a group of other well-dressed Ramenses stood waiting. There were others in the yard to the front, various males from the area, holding torches that created more of that orange glow.

 Badger raised his chin, nervous now, at the amount of people present, but encouraged still by his good mood.

 Some of the torch-bearers muttered, _”Look at that thing…" ”It’s wearing a cloak,”  "There’s a fucking dead sheep in there,”_

Badger slowed and hesitated, the fur at the back of his neck prickling and rising. He was well aware of the hostility these people felt for the Luceres. That was the reason his people were living in the forest - it was something handed down for generations, ever since the non-lupine folk had started keeping flocks of bleating woolly supper and goat supper in fenced off fields.

 It had peaked some twenty years ago, when the Ramenses leader, Romulus had apparently killed his twin brother, Remus. Badger’s mother said that the rift this act had caused between her and her foster brother had meant the Luceres were without the protection of the human leader long enough for the local stone dwellers to persecute the Luceres with impunity.

 They had swords and arrows and the Luceres had lost the use of those kind of weapons, relying on their wolf bodies for hunting and defending themselves. A strong cult of worshiping Maira, the she-wolf who was said to be the ancestor of the Luceres had many lupine folk turn their backs on non-lupine technologies.

 At the same time, a resurgence in the cult of Faunus had encouraged the Ramenses to fear and hate the Luceres.

 Badger’s father had been killed, and his mother took the tribe into the forest, where the Ramenses feared to go.

 Today, this marriage was going to start re-uniting the peoples of the Atirim valleys. It seemed to Badger that there was a strong sense of distrust and looks of fearful disgust on the faces of some of these torch bearers.

 He raised the basket and spoke out loud to the farmer, offering him the gifts he had brought and declaring he would be honoured to accept his daughter’s hand in marriage.

 There were shocked murmurs, derisory laughter, and Badger was disconcerted to see the smirk on the farmer’s face.

 “Well, well. What ah… big teeth you have, tonight, Ianthinarus,” he sneered. “You Luceres really are mad people, as the myths always said.”

 Badger’s ears flattened. He felt most uncomfortable now, this was clearly some kind of trap. The torch-bearers had moved into more of a circle around him, the torches representing not so much a nice orange glow, as a terrible threat.

 Perhaps, he shouldn’t have come as a wolf for this - although the farmer knew perfectly well that was the arrangement - perhaps -

 He yelped sharply as something struck the back of his head - he was a member of the Luceres tribe, a wolf man, he had just made his first kill alone as a wolf and now he was a man and he had not noticed when one of the torch bearers had swung a shepherd staff at his head - this was all wrong and ridiculous, it was all arranged… the farmer would explain, this was all a big mistake…

 But the now sickening orange glow of the torches flashed in his vision, the world tilted and he sank to the ground unconscious.

 

\---------------------------

 

Tawny ran down the hill on two fleet hooves, skipping over rocks and bushes. He had little reason to stick to the human paths on the infrequent occasions he left the glade. There was urgency today, like there had not been in a long while.

 He had heard the horns from down in the valley. They were blown when he was being summoned to his festivals, when the Ramenses held a feast involving a lot of fermented fruit juice and good food. He had taught them to enjoy doing those kind of things on a grand scale and to celebrate life and fun.

 He joined them even now, twice a year, and enjoyed the ready eagerness of many of them to blow him and let him fuck them. Sometimes they had had so much of the fruit juice they thought he was just one of their priests, or even thought they were dreaming him, like a religious experience of some kind.

 At other times they blew smaller, sharper horns with urgency, because the wolves were threatening their flocks. It had been many centuries since he had responded to those, but they were still blown, to scare the wolves and to act as a prayer for aid.

 They were blowing those horns this evening, as well as the bigger ceremonial ones. It was supposed to be Badger’s coming of age ritual and then his wedding, held in the evening as that was the Luceres tradition.

 The orange glow from the settlement worried Tawny. It was like the sacred fires these people used to light when they held the old ceremonies of sacrifice. Tawny had stopped them doing that, as he had taught them how to protect their animals and gather them in at night.

 Everything was just wrong. Tawny was very old, and when he cared to remember, very wise. He realised at once he had acted very unwisely in accepting that the leader of the local Ramenses group was happy to arrange a deal with Larentia Lupa, the Luceres leader. Especially if part of that was marrying his daughter to Larentia's son - a creature the Ramenses considered an unholy monster.

 It was all a trick and what sickened Tawny the most was he simply hadn’t listened to Badger’s objections to the arrangement. The little brown wolf who was also a small, beautiful Etrurian man had wanted to stay with Tawny, not get married to a non-lupine human. Tawny had been taking the easy way out of everything for centuries and he taken the easy course, thinking it was better for Badger to be with someone human than a demi-god goatman who had forgotten most of his own origins.

 He had been wrong. He had also put Badger in grave danger.

 He capered down the hillside, pausing to take his pipes and blow a tune of five notes, four times, to north, south, east and west. He was not going to be the only one of his kind around here for much longer tonight.

 

\------------------------------

 

Badger came round being half carried half dragged to the center of the stone dweller village, something heavy and cold around his neck. There was a stone statue of Faunus in a circular stone fountain trough and in front of that was a square of gently concave, stone paving. The paved square was decorated with the outlines of Faunus's face, in deep carved grooves.

 He scrabbled to all fours as he was dropped on the square. There was a clinking sound there was a chain being attached to what turned out to be a metal collar around his neck. He tugged at it and realised he was shackled to the center of the square.

 The chain was long enough to allow him to stand on all fours.

 He struggled, starting to panic and not in a good way.

 A man in a long robe, flanked by two men in goatskin breeches approached. The men were wearing some kind of fake goat horns on their heads - they were meant to look like Tawny. The man in the robe was saying something, mentioning Faunus and sacrifice of a beast.

 Badger tugged at the chain harder, he was much stronger as a wolf, but this chain was set in the stone.

 He called out “This is all a big mistake!” and his voice was a growl.

 There was disgust at the wolf speech.

 He changed back into human form at will, to remind them who he really was but that caused them to call out about the ‘mad wolf demons’.

 The goat men stepped forward and poured some oily liquid onto the edges of the stone square. It started to run down the little grooves of the picture, highlighting the outlines of Tawny’s etched image. Four torchbearers approached. At a word from the robed priest, they touched their torches to the corners of the square and the rivulets of oil caught flame.

 Badger screamed in terror, yanking the chain as the fire began to run along the channels, following the downward-flowing oil towards the center of the square - and towards him. With a burst of lupine strength in human form he yanked the chain out of its concrete mooring, but it was too late. The red, soft cloak caught fire, his panicking start of a scramble caused his feet to slip in the oily channels and drops of flaming oil splashed him.

 He yelped and squealed and set up a miserable howl, the sound was nearly drowned out in the Ramses's crowd’s triumphant laughter...

 

 At that moment, the being the great stone statue and the grooved face on the death square represented came among his followers. Faunus himself, the goat-god, the great shepherd, the Wise One appeared. With him came a large number of goats, wild mountain goats, shaggy descendents of escaped livestock, and what could be mistaken for other people dressed as Faunus.

 Tawny ran towards the square, powering along on his hooves, his hands out and the flames receded for him. Leaping onto the square he seized Badger and there was a huge splash as he leaped again and plunged them both into the water trough around the statue.

 He clutched at Badger, who was whimpering and struggling, beside himself, shushing.

 Around them was a great degree of commotion, many people kneeling at the arrival of their god. The torchbearers who had accompanied the deceitful farmer were waving torches at a number of goats, who reared up on their hind legs menacingly.

 Tawny climbed out of the fountain holding Badger in his arms and roared for quiet. He kicked the priest away when the man tried to approach, and when the man still dared to say “Lord Faunus, accept our sacrifice,” he was enraged. He kicked the priest into the oil square and its returning flames..

 “You will never do this again!” he shouted. “You - you are cursed!”

 He gestured with his head to one of the people who had arrived with him. They were satyrs, like him, they had come to the call of his pipes on the hillside, along with the wild and renegade goats for miles around.

 “Let’s go,” he said.

 “What about these?” asked a satyr.

 “M-My legs,” whined Badger, unhappily.

 The most important thing right now was to get Badger safely away and take care of him. However, Tawny was simmering with hatred for this group of stone dwellers.

 “Let his mother have them,” said Tawny, grimly. “Tell the Luceres what has happened, and let them deal with it.”

 Back in the glade Tawny lay Badger down by the stream. Badger was shaking, shock setting in. He stirred and saw several fauns and satyrs gathered around.

 “No! Leave me alone!” he focused on Tawny's face. “YOU! I am not your sacrifice -”

 Tawny put his hands on either side of Badger’s face, stroking, soothing. “It’s okay, it’s me, I saved you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, baby I’m sorry…” he kissed Badger’s hands, his neck. “I would never want that, they will pay, your mother will make them pay,”

 Badger relaxed a little, seeing the grief and guilt on the goat-man’s face, Tawny could see burns up the left side of Badger’s neck and face, superficial but nasty. Nasty, unnecessary and all his fault.

 Worse, Badgers legs were roasted. There was no other way to put it. Tawny did not know if Badger could survive this. He knew shock, he knew about keeping injuries clean. He knew the Luceres had longer lives than non-lupine humans, if they were not severely injured and did not catch the dreaded Latian wolf distemper. Badger was what counted as severely injured.

 The other satyrs were quiet and respectful, bringing water from the stream, rags, herbs and starting to hover, wanting to start treating Tawny’s little wolf-man friend.

 Tawny moved back, still within Badger’s vision and looked at the waterfall in the distance. At last the thing that had been staring him in the face became clear. He could heal Badger, and he could appeal to the Lady.

 He gathered Badger up again, telling the satyrs to wait and hurried to the waterfall. There he cradled Badger again and appealed to the presence that lived in and around the pool at the base of the big spray.

 “Maira, come to your son, and tell me what I can do,”

 The roar of the water seemed to diminish in volume a little, although the water was still plunging off the hillside. Something shimmered on the surface of the pool, not just the moonlight, but a sparkling silver shape, rising up in the form of a large wolf.

 “The Lady….!” murmured Badger.

 No words were spoken after that. But the clear understanding came to Tawny that taking a leap of faith off the top of the hill, into the fall, and a drop into the pool that would surely shatter Badger’s body, Luceres or not, would take them into a world of possibilities, where Tawny’s intentions to make up for his mistakes would save Badger.

 The satyrs in the glade looked up, feeling the plunge from there with senses other than hearing. There was a long pause, as they waited with baited breath for the splash and the ripples of consequence.

 

Oct 31 2012

 

It’s a Halloween party at the biker bar where Jack Rollins regularly meets his friends. Jack makes an entrance in his black leathers, and black boots. He turns heads because he is also wearing a soft red cape with a raised hood. With him is Brock Rumlow - he is in the the most elaborate werewolf costume.

 Music plays and there are plastic pumpkin lamps strung around the bar in chains of run lights. Tonight there will be the annual Halloween costume judging and the prize if a $100 gift certificate. It’s all good seasonal fun, little models of skeletons riding motorcycles hanging from the ceiling.

 Jack is in a good mood. His friend Dan buys him and his wolf costumed friend a drink, whiskey and shots. Dan is amazed when the ‘wolf’ takes the shot without even removing the costume head. Jack chuckles good naturedly and winks at the ‘wolf’.

 It’s not long before Dan is drunk and starts asking if he can see how the costume works. He runs his hand down the wolf man’s back - and gropes him for the zipper. A low rumbling growl emerges from somewhere in the man’s wolf suit - a little device fitted, of course.

 “That is awesome,” remarks Dan and reached down to the front of the costume; perhaps the zipper is there

 The wolf man darts a look at Jack and then slams Dan up against the wall at the side of the bar. When he leans in close, Dan can see that the eyes are honey-colored, with hazel flecks at the center. They are very real, and horribly familiar. That and the the growling and being pressed to the wall reminds him of a day in the toilet much earlier that year.

 “Brock…?” Jack’s aging twink of a special forces boyfriend had given him the fright of his life and several stitches.

 Brock laughs. “Good, huh?”

 "...Yeah,” mutters Dan, nervously.

 Dan gets so drunk that night he can’t even remember much of this party the next day. But he does remember that was what he was hoping for.

 Jack Rollins and Brock Rumlow are declared winners of the Halloween fancy dress. Jack’s Red Riding Hood cape is kind of underrated genius in its own way, but it was the awesome, upright wolf outfit that secured the victory. They are awarded the $100 voucher, redeemable at any branch of a major retail chain.

 Back at Jack’s house, Brock climbs the garage roof. He likes to go out at night, balancing out another facet of a split life, SHIELD, Hydra… something else. Sometimes he runs for hours in the woods. Sometimes Jack comes too, on his bike.

 Tonight, Jack grins and climbs a ladder to join Brock on top of the garage. He pets the fur, so real and warm.

 Sometimes it gives him thoughts that disturb him. Tonight he is not disturbed. Brock smells of _Axe Apollo_ and warm fur, that is perfectly natural for Brock these days. When Jack starts to press up against him, nuzzling, big fingers groping like Dan’s, Brock does not mind.

 The moon might not have anything directly to do with the things that have happened to Brock this year, but it certainly brings out certain moods in him. Running his paws over Jack’s ribs, helping his slip off his shirt, and shuffle his black pants down, Brock is sure he can feel something, tawny curls. Not just where they usually are, but all around Jack’s hips.

 It’s probably what comes from drinking that whiskey.

 Jack presses Brock down on the garage roof, his dick brushing past a hairy tail. He is not waiting, because this is right, and it is nature, and Panic. Sliding into Brock, there is nothing that ever feels as right as this. It fits together like Red Riding Hood and the Wolf, like Rumlow and Rollins, like Tawny and Badger.

 He can hear rushing, it is not just his blood pounding by his ears, it is a great waterfall and there is olive skin, or brown fur and warm hazel-honey eyes. This is always the way it has been.

 Brock wraps his elongated hands around Jack's’ shoulders and bucks his hips, cock grinding on tawny curls and when he comes, his paw brushes over the the base of a curved horn on Jack's head.

 Jack’s green eyes are shining, for a moment Brock can see the reflection of the moon and a waterfall in them.

 Yeah, it was definitely the whiskey - and it’s Halloween after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Panificus and Panichelli both relate to baking and bread making, as occupational names. I would wonder if anyone can spot the significance of that name running through several Hydra husbands stories??
> 
> Ianthinarus is a little badger, or seal.
> 
> Rumexia is actually the Latin botanical genus name of some kinds of Sorrel.


End file.
